Coldness
by Minyades
Summary: Ruth's thoughts as she leaves Harry behind on the dockside and tries to move on in Geneva; but will she be able to? HR romance, obviously.
1. Chapter 1

Disclamer: I own neither 'Spooks' nor Ruth nor Harry. In fact, I own nothing.

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**Coldness **

The chill as she stood on the deck of the barge was almost unbearable. The tips of her fingers slowly begun to turn blue as she watched the London skyline slip past her, away from her and a bitter laugh escaped her throat unbidden- In order that she might save the man she loved, she had to leave him behind her in London with that love unsaid. If this had have been an Austen or Brontë novel like the well-thumbed paperbacks sitting forlornly left on her bookcase, this would not have been allowed to happen. He would have saved her, done anything for her, died even; This plot twist would have been inconceivable.

She wondered whether she would see him in the distance through the mist, a shadowy figure standing on the dockside, looking every inch as lost as she felt, if she only turned around. Or perhaps he had already left, slipped into his chauffeur-driven car and slunk back to his life without a second thought of her sacrifice for him. She didn't move though. Sometimes it was better to not know, accept uncertainties rather than having to possibly face the bitter truth.

No longer was she Ruth Evershed, she was Sybil Pearce, that was one truth which she must face. She cursed Malcolm under her breath for his audacity in choosing that rather terrible name; How was she meant to forget, move on with a name such as that? It was rather an infelicity really, she thought, giving _her_ the name of a prophetess (for she could never have foreseen this) and furthermore Harry's surname, of all the surnames of the world he could have chosen, why that one? Although in her daydreams she had always thought that maybe someday that surname would be hers, but then in that daydream she had been wearing a white dress too.

Would he remember her ten years from now? It was entirely possible even her faithful cats would have forgotten her in a decade's time, she thought with a sigh.

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Please review. This is my first ever fanfic and I would really appreciate any feedback that you may care to give. 


	2. Chapter 2

I know it's ages since I posted the first chapter and well this chapter may not actually more the plot forward at all; but I promise it is going somewhere and that it should be updated more regularly from now on (but exam stress is getting to me, so I would not like to say just how regularly)!

Disclaimer- I still own nothing, unfortunately.

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Geneva

The lake-side promenade was quiet at this time of the morning. The sun was just beginning to rise over the Swiss mountain tops and there was only an occasional passer-by to disturb her peace, as Ruth walked along alone in contemplation towards the Bibliothèque d'art et d'archéologie, carrying a stack of carefully balanced folders in her arms. Her hair had grown longer but the long skirt that billowed gently in the breeze and the errant patterned scarf wound loosely around her neck were unchanged. If only the dawn had have been a little grayer, the water less blue and the buildings more grandiose, she could almost have been walking along the embankment to Thames House; but it had been five long years since she had left London.

Her thoughts drifted towards her favourite subject of reflection; a small sad smile appeared upon her lips. So much had changed in those five years, yet the man who consumed her thoughts, the topic of so many reveries and so many more lucid dreams as she lay asleep at night had not. The doubts however still clung. It would be inconceivable that he had not already moved on. After all it was not as if he was not attractive or desirable, it was not as if their love had ever been declared or consummated, it was not as if there was any tangible future for them together. And five years was a long time to be alone; Ruth more than any one else knew this, without even her cats to keep her company any more.

As she waited for a black sedan with to pass her by, before she crossed the street to walk up the Boulevard Helvétique, she thought she caught a glimpse of him in the car. But then this was not the first time she had thought she had seen him; once she had chased after the car, an Audi she remembered, until it paused in traffic, only to have the man in the car turn round and look at her with a face that was not his. She crossed the road. She knew that even if she was to see him again, there was nothing she could do but walk away; otherwise her sacrifice would have been in vain.


End file.
